


close the lid, bro

by acidilitch



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: M/M, Welcome to Hell AU, and smii7y in general, as u can see i love this ship, bc ofc hed be him, craig is mephistopheles, i suck at tagging so dont expect much outta me, i tried w smittys last name i swear, john is jonathan ofc, smii7y is sock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 00:49:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidilitch/pseuds/acidilitch
Summary: Title subject to change lmfao.•••••"Hey John.""What the fuck, Smitty.""John.""It's two in the fucking morning.""... John.""What.""Ready to kill yourself yet?"And with a groan, John tossed a pillow at the ghost at the end of his bed.•••••yeet





	close the lid, bro

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER (Expect to see this on most of my fics)  
> i do not in anyway believe that smii7y and kyroz will get into a relationship, nor do i hope they do.  
> its personally rude and disrespectful to them, and i dont want to force it onto them.  
> i ship their youtube personalities, not them as people.  
> •••••  
> if u havent seen welcome to hell, look it up its an amazing animation.

Smitty was a weird kid.

If he wasn't playing videogames, he was tearing legs off bugs and harassing animals with sharp sticks. 

His clothes seemed to fit the strange behavior, his vision disfigured since he refused to take off the 3D glasses he got at a movie theatre when he was five, or the bright yellow wind breaker constantly on his shoulders, not to mention the red, yellow, and blue helicopter cap always on his head. It could be 100 degrees and he'd still be found in that skirt and windbreaker, not even breaking a sweat.

After he turned 11, his parents stopped trying.

After he turned 16, his parents stopped breathing.

He ended up sleep killing his parents, along with his hamster he lovingly named Solitaire, and woke splattered in blood with a sharp kitchen knife in his hand. He didn't freak out, surprisingly, simply sighing with annoyance as he realised what he'd done. He dragged the two bodies to the backyard, spending the next four hours digging out three semi-shallow graves. By the end of it he was covered in dirt along with the already dried blood, tiredly dragging his dead parents into their respective graves.

"Well!" He brushed a hand across his forehead, "guess this is it, buddy." The knife in his hand glinted in the moonlight as he stared at it. He stepped in front of his grave, looking into the pit for a second before turning to face his house.

With a two fingered salute, he shoved the knife into his chest, and twisted before the pain could get to him.

 

•••••

"Mornin', Milky!" Was that an Irish or British accent? He couldn't tell. 

"Uh, hello?" He was pulled by a short, yet well fit man in a suit. With how easily he was picked up off the floor, you'd think he's weightless. "Welcome to Hell! Underworld for the fancy ones," he cocked a hip out, head tilted to the side, "though you don't seem much the fancy type." He made a small gesture to the kids outfit, but Smitty payed no mind. 

"And are you.. Satan?" Craig made a face, seemingly offended. 

"I prefer Craig, but whatever floats your boat, kid!" He pulled a file off his desk, flipping the manilla folder open. "Sleep-stabbed your parents! You're the first in the past couple hundred years.... Smitty Milkenstein." He cringed at his last name, and stuffed his hands into the windbreakers pockets. "Gave your best friend a dead rabbit... Anyways! How'd you feel about getting a job, Milky?" 

"Uh. A job? I thought I was supposed to burn in hell forever for sleep stabbing my parents?" And Solitaire. Oh poor Solitaire. 

"Nah, I mean, you could? But wouldn't you rather collect some new associates for down here? Really need someone to take care of the hounds, poor things tore up their last keeper like a chew toy."

"Wait so like. I get to  _kill_ people?"

"Ah, well, no, but you do get to drive them to the point of killing themselves!" 

"Ah... well-"

"Its either that or the hounds, Milkenstein."

"Deal."

Craig clapped his hands together. "Great! Now, your first client's gonna be..." He snapped his fingers, one of the many filing cabinet drawers flinging open. It slowed down as the letter 'J' came rolling by, and Craig pulled out one of the millions of files. "John! 18... Senior... Oof, he'll be easy. Doesn't take much to derail a teenager these days, y'anno?" Craig let out a sharp laugh, passing the file to the new employee in front of him. 

Smitty took it with a bounce in his step. "A'ight boss, I'll get him to kick the bucket in no time."

•••••

He's coming to realize this was a lot harder than he thought.

This guy didn't care! All he ever did was laugh at him for his over the top attempts at annoying the guy, or shoot back insults everytime Smitty tried to belittle him.

"John, baby, sweetheart, the pain in my ass, why won't you jump off a roof yet?" He asked sweetly, levitating with his arms crossed behind his head as the supposed-to-be victim played a few rounds of Mario Kart.

"Maybe 'cause you're not trying hard enough."

"If watching you shower isn't trying hard enough than I don't know what is."

"That's not trying, that's just gay."

"Shut the fuck up."

The sharp whistle sound signifying the end of the match shot out of the TV, and John set his controller down. "Too bad you're a ghost-thing-whatever. I'd totally love to kick your ass at Mario Kart."

"I was a champ at Mario Kart, excuse you!" He put a finger up as he spoke, as if to further prove his point. 

"Believe it when I see it, Ghosty." John nearly jumped out of his skin as the semi transparent teen flew a little too close to his face.

"See! If you just--," Smitty dragged his thumb across his throat, "I can prove it to you! It'll take a minute!"

"Now you just sound desperate."

"Ya' sure? 'Cause from the amount of times I've seen you jerk yourself off," Smitty made a fist with his hand and swiftly brought it up and down, "I think you're the desperate one." 

"I feel like a pedophile for seeing you do that." John replied quickly, unphased by the insult. Smitty groaned and slammed his head against the wall. Or at least would've, but instead flung himself into John's bathroom. "Smooth move, idiot!" He heard through the wall, before he begrudgingly floated back in. If he could blush, he would be, but ghosts not only don't have blood, but don't even have literal bodies to contain it.

"That was an accident," he stammered out, "just like you."

"Wow. Triggered."

" _Good._ " John snorted, a grin appearing on his face. He's grown pretty fond of the ghost kid, despite him constantly trying to get him to keel over and die. He never asked him how he died, or why. The only clue he has is the weird goopy hole in his chest that Smitty was quick to show after a week of being around him. 

As much as Smitty denies it, he's sure that the ghost likes him too.

Smitty floated down in front of him, knees pulled into his arms as he floated about an inch from the carpet. 

"You need a shower."

"And you need better insults." Came the response, and suddenly Smitty wished he was sentient enough to smack the guy in front of him. Hm.

"Can I try something?"

"That sounds gay, Smitty."

" _Shut up,_ answer the question, you fuck."

John pauses a moment before shrugging a tad. "Yeah whatever, not much you can really do." Smitty sat still for a moment.

"Can you close your eyes."

"I swear to god you're sounding gayer by the moment."

 _"John._ "

"Fuck- fine, okay, whatever." The teen shut his eyes, but his nerves tingled. Smitty wouldn't do something drastic, right? Not like he can, he's a ghost after all, a shitty one at that. There's a dragged out pause, and he was close to just opening his eyes and going downstairs to make a Hot Pocket™. The thought quickly disappeared when suddenly a chill went down his spine, and he felt his body go weightless yet heavy at the same time. His breath forced its way out of his lungs and didn't seem to come back.

When Smitty heard choking noises he jumped back.

"Shit- fuck! Are you okay?!" John sucked in a deep breath and instantly started coughing violently, the color coming back to his face slowly.

"What... The fu..ck.. Smit..." God, he sounded like he was in so much pain, leaning forward while he clutched at the front of his sweater. Smitty would've loved it if this were any other circumstance.

"Well I. I tried to. To definitely not uh. Kiss you and. May have accidentally possessed you instead?" He laughed nervously, fiddling with his glasses. "You didn't die though! Hah!"

John looked both pissed and pleased at the same time. Weird combination. "Next time you wanna be gay can you try not to fucking  _rip my soul from my body?_ "

Smitty reeled back, cocking his head to the side. "Wait- you're not-," he pursed his lips for a second, cutting himself off, "sure thing, won't happen again." He sighed out, a tinge of relief in his tone. John brushed a hand through his hair before shaking his head. 

"I'm gonna go eat something, try not to possess a vase or something."

"That's not possible, fucko!"

Smitty is definitely not telling Craig about this.

**Author's Note:**

> the reason why smitty doesnt just possess john and force him to kill himself is bc it wouldnt count as suicide and would probably get fired. literally.
> 
> i lost motive at the end so ill try to fix that shitty ending when i dont feel like dying thank u
> 
> i loVE U IF U READ THIS AND ENJOYED HAVE A NICE DAY


End file.
